


Partners in Crime

by manquebusiness



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-13 09:56:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14746641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/manquebusiness/pseuds/manquebusiness
Summary: There isn’t an honest thief who doesn’t want to steal from Didier Gailhaguet. Scott and Tessa consider themselves honest thieves.





	1. The Job

**Author's Note:**

> Me: But does AU RPF even make sense as a concept? The characterization is essentially invented, so strip away the setting and the so-called plot and what’s even left?  
> Also Me: Hey, you enjoy plenty of AU VM fic.  
> Me: But those are actually well written. Arguably, I just enjoy them as short stories.  
> Also Me: But don’t you want to see if you’re capable of writing something more high concept?  
> Me: Not particularly, no.  
> Also Me: Well, you’re gonna.  
> Me: (sighs)

When Chiddy first comes to them with the idea, Scott and Tessa tell him no. “We haven’t worked in two years,” says Scott. “Get the Shibutanis to do it. Or those new French kids.”

Chiddy scoffs. “Gabi and Guilloume can’t even manage simple lifts, let alone something as complicated at this. And the Shibs are still being run by Marina—I’m not giving her a percentage. Not after what happened in Sochi.”

Tessa purses her lips. They don’t talk about the Russian job.

The three of them are sprawled out on deck chairs on the back porch of Tessa’s cottage, looking out at the lake. It’s a bit early in the season for beach weather, but these days it’s so rare for all three of them to get together that a sense of vacation wafts in the breeze, even as they discuss work. Or potential work.

“Since when do you bring us jobs, anyway?” asks Tessa from behind her sunglasses. “You’re usually a one-man show.”

“Well, yeah, I do prefer to fly solo,” says Chiddy. He rolls off his chair, strolls around so that he can lean against the railing and face them, water to his back. “But I’m having trouble getting a look inside the vault, and even if I weren’t, I wouldn’t be able to handle something this big on my own anyway.”

Scott yawns. “And now you want us to ask what vault,” he says lazily.

Chiddy nods. “I do indeed. But if you won’t, I’ll tell you anyway.” He pauses theatrically, ever the showman. “It’s none other than the fabled ISU.”

Whatever reaction he’s expecting, he doesn’t quite get it. “The ISU?” Tessa says. Her forehead scrunches. “Is that a joke? The Royal Canadian Mint would be easier.”

“The Royal Canadian Mint _was_ easier,” Scott reminds her.

“I’ve been doing some light accounting for them,” says Chiddy, “and there have been some very interesting deposits.”

“Accounting?” Scott guffaws.

“I have the degree,” Chiddy shrugs. “Or the paperwork for one, at least. And it’s a good way to keep updated on who’s doing business there.”

“Yeah, doing business at the ISU,” says Tessa. “The ISU! A three-block gold and diamond trading district with its own dedicated police force!” She leans back abruptly, as if suddenly noticing the way her voice has risen, and forces her shoulders back into relaxation. “It’s impossible.”

“Everything’s impossible until you do it,” says Chiddy. “Aren’t you the one who’s usually saying that? Don’t tell me Tessa Virtue has lost her nerve.”

“Please,” she says. She turns her face away to reach for her paloma. “I’m not a child. You’re not going to get to me with this reverse psychology bullshit.”

“I might.” Chiddy hops up on the railing, swings his feet. “Besides, I haven’t even told you who the mark is.”

“I don’t see how it matters,” says Tessa, but Scott can’t help himself.

“I’ll bite.”

Chiddy can’t resist another dramatic pause. “Didier.”

Scott slides off his Wayfarers and sits up, feet straddling the deck chair. “Didier? Didier Gailhaguet?”

Chiddy smirks, gratified. “The one and only. He’s recently started storing a large deposit in the ISU vault, and I’m pretty sure it’s not his mother’s jewelry.”

It’s one thing to be a thief and it’s another to be a civilian. It’s a third, completely infuriating thing to be a thief who pretends to be a civilian. Didier has stolen more than Tessa, Scott, and Chiddy combined, but he still playacts as a respectable businessman. Even when he gets fingered, even when he gets _caught_ , he gives the right money to the right people and leans on the right judges, and somehow he’s still president of FFSG Corp, walking around in the daylight like he’s never heard of shame.

There isn’t an honest thief who doesn’t want to steal from Didier Gailhaguet. Scott and Tessa consider themselves honest thieves.

“Didier _fucking_ Gailhaguet,” Scott hisses.

Tessa’s mind is on more practical things. “What’s the take?”

“The only thing worth stealing.” Chiddy is practically vibrating. “Gold.”

Scott turns to face Tessa, who looks back at him over her drink. She takes a slow sip of grapefruit and tequila before speaking.

“We’re in.”

 

***

 

After the sun’s gone down, they huddle around the table in Tessa’s neglected kitchen and discuss personnel options over the bottles of 2013 Flat Rock Riesling that Chiddy brought.

“Tessa’s jugmarker, obviously,” says Scott, reaching an arm behind her chair.

“We’re both jugmarker,” she corrects.

Scott gives her a look. “Tessa’s jugmarker.” He nods at Chiddy. “Inside man, at least until we get established. Do you think you could manage a little grift if we need it?”

“I mean, we’re talking flirting with receptionists, right?” Chiddy waggles his eyebrows. “Not, like, fake mustaches or something.”

“I’ll make a note of it, we’ll see what we can do,” says Tessa. She really does make a note, scribbling onto a steno pad in actual shorthand. “Scott’s boxman, of course.”

“Mmm.” Scott knits his brows, stares into middle distance like he’s visualizing. “If the vault’s anything close to what I’ve heard, we might need to split the safecracking up a bit.”

“As long as it’s not me.” Chiddy flexes his fingers against the table. “You know how shaky I get when the pressure’s on. Don’t want to flop on you guys.”

“You’re too hard on yourself,” says Tessa. She pats the back of his hand without looking up. “I’m sure we can keep you out of it though. And we need a wheelman. Someone specialized—transporting gold will be a bigger pain in the ass than gems.” She chews her lip. “If it weren’t for the fact that it’s Didier, I’d consider skipping the gold entirely.”

“If it weren’t for the fact that it’s Didier, you wouldn’t be considering at all,” Chiddy points out.

“That’s for damn sure.”

“Wheelman,” Scott muses. “If I could have anybody, I’d want Marie-France.”

“Dubreuil?” says Chiddy. “She’ll want to bring in her partner.”

“Perfect, we’ll need someone on tech anyway,” says Tessa. She makes a few more notes.

“Oh, so you do have a plan already,” says Scott. “See?” He turns to Chiddy and jerks a thumb at Tessa. “Jugmarker.”

Chiddy frowns. “I thought you had a policy against crew members getting involved with each other.”

Scott shrugs. “It’s Patch and Marie-France,” he says. “They’re legends. You know they did that thing at the International Strategic Reserve back in 2012? If they can move three thousand tons of maple syrup, they can handle a couple bags of gold bullion.” He squeezes Tessa’s far shoulder. “And they’ve always been much more generous with us than we deserve.”

“Hey, it’s your policy,” says Chiddy, putting his hands up. “My bigger concern is that they’ll want to bring in their new guy, Romain. They’ve been working with him for a couple years.”

“Romain?” asks Tessa, eyes narrowed. “I thought he was with the French kids.”

“Apparently he works with Patch and Marie-France a bit too. Not sure what his specialty is, if any.”

Scott and Tessa look at each other. “I don’t like the idea of working with someone new on this,” she says.

“But if they vouch for him . . .” Scott lets the sentence hang in the air, and eventually Tessa nods, jots the name into her notebook. He turns back to Chiddy. “The real issue is whether they’ll want to commit to two years.”

Tessa raises her eyebrows. “Oh, so you do have a plan,” she mimics. She jerks a thumb of her own. “See? Co-jugmarker.”

A small, pleased smile appears on Scott’s face. “If the lady insists.”

 

***

 

The first step is making the call to Patch and Marie-France. It turns out that they are on board with the two-year plan. “Of course,” says Marie-France over speakerphone. “You know you’re our babies. The future of _le grand sport_. We’re so excited to hear you’re back, happy to help in any way we can.”

“Besides,” Patch adds, “it’s local. Very convenient.”

The second step is relocating to Montreal. Chiddy’s real estate license is, surprisingly, genuine, and he soon has them settled into both a small but convincing office in the district and a three-bedroom townhouse with a conveniently soundproofed rec room in the basement.

The third step is raising some capital. They don’t need much, just some starter jewelry that Scott lifts on an out-of-town ring shopping trip with Tessa. She even pretends to propose (“You always get to do it!”), and while Chiddy initially expresses doubt about a con that attracts more attention than strictly necessary, he has to admire the fistful of necklaces Scott unloads from his pocket back at the townhouse.

“There was a blind spot in the security camera coverage,” Scott says, too casually to hide how happy he is that he hasn’t lost his touch. “Hardly what I’d call a level four lift.”

“You’re telling me you couldn’t afford a few lousy pieces of jewelry?” says Romain when they all finally meet up. They’re at one of the nicer bars in Montreal, the kind of place with a classic private club vibe, all overstuffed leather armchairs and fireplaces and bespoke cocktails. Romain seems a little uncomfortable, but Marie-France called the place he originally suggested _quétaine_. Chiddy was right about them wanting to bring him in; he’s a forger, new to working in Canada but supposedly good, and Patch has a feeling they’ll need him. Even with such strong recommendations, Scott and particularly Tessa are still hesitant about this unknown quantity. His continental French accent doesn’t help; it’s too similar to Didier’s.

“It’s not a matter of cash flow,” Tessa says. “We can’t have a paper trail showing that we just got into the diamond business yesterday. Most of the ISU vault storage is either long-term collateral, like what Didier’s got in his account, or storage for large-scale deals. Amateurs not welcome.” Her tone is less harsh than her words, and she smiles at Romain.

“Everybody knows that,” he snaps. “What does that have to do with the jewelry?”

She glances over at Scott and he takes over. “Tessa and I will be posing as business partners,” he says. “We’ll fence some loose gemstones while insinuating ourselves into the district, then move into bigger gold and diamond dealing. And once we have vault privileges, that’s our in.”

“Gold dealing?” Romain’s forehead creases. “Isn’t the point of gold that you don’t need a dealer? I mean, it’s gold.”

“Sure,” says Chiddy. “You plan on paying tonight’s tab with the gold nuggets in your wallet?” He rolls his eyes at Scott and Tessa. The former smirks while the latter pretends not to see.

A tension is starting to build, which might be why Marie-France changes the subject. “So what kind of toys do you need for initial recon?”

“Nothing much,” says Tessa. She rips out a page of her notebook and hands it over. “Some high-quality cameras, unobtrusive. Pens, glasses, along those lines.”

“How very James Bond,” Patch says. “I think I have something for you.”

“Thanks, Q,” says Scott affectionately.

“No rush, of course,” assures Tessa. “It’ll take some time to get invited in. This meeting is mostly about booking availability. And catching up with old friends.”

Romain stands. “Consider me available,” he says, with a politeness that does nothing to disguise his impatience. “But as I’m neither old nor a friend, and as I have another appointment, I’m afraid I must leave.” He nods at Scott, Tessa, and Chiddy. “A pleasure.”

“If you say so,” Chiddy mutters at his departing back. He raises a hand and a waitress materializes at his elbow.

“Another round?” she asks, and receives five affirmative noises in reply. “By the way, your friend left his card at the bar. Did you want to let him know to come back for it?”

“Oh, he’s not a friend,” says Scott smoothly. “But he left his tab open for us, wants us to put the rest of our drinks on it.”

“I’ll be right back with them,” says the waitress, and disappears.

Patch is looking at Scott, who’s deliberately too busy finishing his Yamazaki single malt to notice. “Obviously I’ll pay him back,” he says finally. Patch nods.

“This is nice,” says Tessa, relaxing into her armchair. “Why don’t we do this more often?”

“We should,” says Marie-France. “It’s been too long. And you haven’t seen Billie-Rose in ages, she’s grown so much.”

“She’s what, five?” asks Scott.

“Six in December.” Patch pulls up some pictures on his phone and passes it to Scott.

“We’ll have you over to our place,” says Marie-France. “Dinner. Or maybe brunch.”

“Ooooh.” Tessa leans forward. “You’ll make those crepes?”

“I prefer pancakes,” says Chiddy. “With maple syrup, like a good Canadian.”

“Don’t you hate when you run out?” Scott drawls, looking up from Patch’s phone. “You’re so sure you have a couple thousand barrels in the pantry but it turns out they’re just gone.”

Marie-France lights up, delighted, but it’s Patch’s unexpected bark of laughter that sets the rest of them off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’ve hidden some fun Easter eggs throughout this, mostly for my own amusement, but I’d love to see what other people catch.
> 
> Also, if you’ve somehow made it to 2018 without familiarizing yourself with the greatest crime in the history of Canada and also the world, I do recommend reading up on the [Great Canadian Maple Syrup Heist](https://www.vanityfair.com/news/2016/12/maple-syrup-heist). Also, for the record, Tessa and Scott’s robbery of the Royal Canadian Mint did not play out the same way as the [real life one](http://ottawacitizen.com/news/local-news/egan-170k-in-mint-gold-allegedly-smuggled-in-body-cavity-judge-hears).


	2. The Vault

The air has just turned crisp and autumnal the morning a man and woman with matching dark hair stride into the ISU district. They’re both wearing suits: his impeccably tailored with exactly half an inch of shirtsleeve showing past the cuff and a Montblanc fountain pen in the breast pocket, hers accessorized with BonLook frames and an elegant topknot. As they pass the police surveillance booth, they nod to the two officers behind the bulletproof glass and weave around the retractable steel traffic bollards.

Across the courtyard sits the grey fortress of the ISU building proper, the austerity of which is only slightly softened by a game attempt at greenery in the planters that flank the entrance. The sliding glass doors part to admit the pair, who veer away from the hub of surveillance feeds and private security guards to check in with the receptionist at the desk to their left.

“Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir, representing—”

“Mr. Moir! Ms. Virtue!” A man walks briskly towards them across the lobby. “Patrick Chan, we spoke on the phone.”

Tessa stretches her hand out to meet his. “So glad to finally meet in person.”

He moves on to shake Scott’s hand. “This is perfect timing, I can take you right in.” He leans over to the receptionist. “Can you print out some tenant IDs for them, Liz? They’re renting safety deposit boxes today.”

Liz frowns at her computer screen. “Sorry, Patrick, I’m not seeing them on the schedule.”

“My fault,” he says. He touches her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, I know I’m always forgetting. It’s the last time, I swear.”

She swats his hand away playfully. “Always making my life so difficult,” she chides, in a tone that suggests she prefers it that way. “What would you do without me covering for you?”

“A whole lot worse is what,” he says, taking the freshly printed IDs from her. “Here you go, Ms. Virtue, and this one’s yours, Mr. Moir. This way, please.” He gestures Scott and Tessa through the turnstiles and starts to lead them away, throwing a final wink to the receptionist over his shoulder.

They turn the corner to stand before the elevator bank. The man presses the button and waits with them, chatting animatedly all the while. “The final application paperwork should be fairly simple, of course, and I’ve already heard from the rental office that your background checks went through. After you’ve made the first payment, one of the guards will escort you down to the vault for a tour.”

“Thanks so much, Mr. Chan,” says Scott. “We really appreciate your help in smoothing the way for us, especially resolving that paperwork mix-up with the background check.”

“Oh please, call me Patrick,” says Chiddy.

The elevator dings, and all three enter.

 

***

 

Later that night, the crew gathers in the townhouse living room, where Scott struggles with a set of remotes for a full ten minutes before finally turning the whole apparatus over to Tessa. “I’m not sure what made you think you could operate 21st century technology,” she says, effortlessly toggling through the menus.

“Me neither,” says Scott. “Hubris, I guess.”

A few seconds later, a split screen video appears on the tv. “There we go,” says Tessa. “Left is Scott’s pen, right is my glasses. Welcome to the ISU.”

Chiddy hoots and claps before realizing that nobody else is joining in. He’s sitting on the floor like a kid, Patch and Marie-France on the white Lawson sofa behind him and Romain in the armchair next to it.

“As you can see, the security both inside and outside the building makes any daytime operation impossible for us,” Scott narrates as the footage takes them past the lobby. “Probably impossible for most small militaries as well.”

“Where we’re lucky,” continues Tessa, “is that the vault is so well protected that the building is empty at night. Entrances are blocked off with steel rolldowns here”—she pauses the video and points at the screen—“but windows on higher floors only have the usual heat-sensing infrared detectors.”

“That still leaves the rest of the security system, of course,” says Scott. “Circuit alarms, CCTV cameras, et cetera. Plus the vault itself.”

Tessa fastforwards through their application meeting, resuming play as the point-of-view shots are guided back into the elevators by a security guard. “Now, these are also shut down at night. Unless we can turn them back on, the stairs will be our only option, and the vault is two stories underground.” She glances around the room. “I know you boys are pretty buff, but at just under twelve and a half kilograms per ingot, that’s not negligible.”

Onscreen, the elevator doors open to face the vault. “Pause?” says Scott, and Tessa does so. “So the vault door is open during the day, leaving only this steel grate. Pretty minimal, but as we’ve discussed, not what we’ll be dealing with. The door itself”—he gestures at the left side of the screen, where his pen camera is focused—“is three tons of steel with a seismic alarm.”

“So drilling is out,” says Marie-France.

“Rated for twelve hours nonstop, even if the alarm weren’t an issue,” says Tessa. “And that’s only the first layer of security.”

“Number two: combination lock.” Scott taps his finger on the screen. “Four-number code on a combination wheel with numbers from zero to ninety-nine. Over a hundred million possible combinations. Would take an autodialer months to crack, if not years. And the display is up here.” He moves his finger. “Tiny lens, only viewable from directly above.”

“I guess that means we can’t simply look over the guard’s shoulder,” says Chiddy. “Too bad, I was looking forward to developing a reputation for not respecting personal space.”

Tessa snorts. “Nothing’s stopping you. But the combination changes every day anyway.”

Scott points to an aperture next to the door’s four-pronged handle. “Next up, keyed lock. The key is a foot long, supposedly impossible to duplicate.”

Romain bristles. “Impossible? Get me a clear video of it and we’ll see if that’s the case.”

Tessa looks uncertain. “That might be difficult.”

“But we’ll try,” says Scott. He exchanges a quick glance with Tessa before moving on. “Up here, this metal plate. When the door’s closed, it faces this corresponding plate on the wall and forms a magnetic field.” He indicates the spot visible on the right side of the screen, where Tessa’s glasses have captured the vault doorframe. “Break the field, you have twenty seconds to disarm the alarm on a keypad inside the vault.”

“No looking over someone’s shoulder for that either, I take it,” says Chiddy.

Tessa nods. “Even if we could get cozy with a guard, there’s no display on the keypad.”

“But that wraps it up for the door,” says Scott. “Just those few, tiny, insignificant obstacles. Oh, and the external security camera.”

Tessa hits play, and the onscreen security guard presses a buzzer and faces a camera over the doorway. After a few seconds, the steel gate clicks open, and both video feeds are escorted into the vault. 

“Another security camera inside,” says Scott. “And there”—Tessa pauses the video again—“that’s the light sensor, and that’s the heat-slash-motion sensor.”

“The sensor needs to detect both heat and motion to go off?” Patch asks, and Scott nods. “That’s something.”

“If we can disarm it in the dark,” says Tessa.

“Night vision goggles?” suggests Marie-France.

Scott shakes his head. “Any trace light that goggles can detect, the sensor can detect. And nothing in there’s going to have a heat signature, obviously, so thermal imaging is out as well.”

Tessa unpauses the video. The guard is sliding out their newly-rented security deposit box and handing it to Scott. “I don’t know why he gave it to you,” she grumbles. “I was the one doing all the talking.”

“Well, as a man, I’m qualified to tell you that it’s because of sexism,” says Scott.

“Right,” says Tessa. “Thank you, I had forgotten.”

“You’re very welcome.”

With the box in Scott’s hands, the better view is from Tessa’s glasses. “Steel and copper,” she says as Scott unlocks the box. “Requires both a key and a combination, over seventeen thousand possible.”

“Fortunately, that’s not our problem,” says Scott, “because if we look to our right, we see the cage.” The camera swings to face that direction, revealing another steel grate bisecting the vault. Behind it, tarps cover mysterious stacks of various sizes. “That one in the middle there. If the info Chiddy gave us is correct—”

“It is,” Chiddy interjects.

“—then that belongs to Didier.” The video pauses for the final time. “That’s our target.”

There’s a moment of silence as the crew stares hungrily at the veiled shape behind the bars. Beneath that tarp lies justice, lies redemption, triumph. Gold.

Tessa’s the one to finally break the spell. “Thoughts from the class?”

Romain scoffs. “Like I said, I can do the key. The rest looks impossible.”

“It looks like a good time,” says Chiddy.

Marie-France is nodding thoughtfully. “There’s a lot to figure out.”

Scott and Tessa look over to Patch. “Tricky,” he says. “Very tricky.”

“Too tricky?” asks Tessa.

Patch raises an eyebrow. “For us? No.”

Scott looks at Tessa, questioning. She breaks into a grin and he returns it. “Okay. _Attache ta tuque_ ,” he says, and then looks very proud of his Québécois.

 

***

 

After the rest of the crew has left, Tessa suggests splitting a bottle of Veuve Clicquot to toast their successful casing of the ISU, and so Scott puts his unopened Molson back in the fridge. They’re about a flute and a half in, facing each other from opposite ends of the sofa with their feet tangled together, when Tessa opens her mouth to say something but immediately closes it. It doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You want to talk about Romain,” says Scott, sitting up and setting his glass down on the side table at his elbow.

“It’s just a feeling,” she says.

“You don’t like him.”

“I don’t.”

“Personally?”

“And professionally,” she admits. “Maybe.”

Scott is watching her carefully. “It’s our first job since Sochi. Nobody would blame you for being a little gun shy.”

Tessa taps the side of her glass, follows the bubbles as they rise to the surface. “You think that’s all it is?”

“No,” says Scott, unhesitatingly. “I trust your instincts.”

She smiles at him without quite making eye contact. “You haven’t always.”

“A mistake I don’t plan on making again.” He picks up his champagne, takes a sip, waits a beat. “But you know, I also trust Marie-France and Patch.”

“I do too. I just . . . Trusting someone doesn’t always mean trusting everybody they trust.”

Scott sighs. “A mistake _you_ don’t plan on making again.”

Tessa grits her teeth. “I’m not trying to start an argument. I just don’t want another Marina situation.”

“I know.”

“She sold us out, Scott.”

“I know.”

“We almost ended up in prison. _Russian_ prison.”

“I know.”

“Forgive me if I’m a little cautious.”

Scott doesn’t reply immediately. When she looks up, there’s a rawness in his eyes. “You’re not the one who needs forgiveness.”

Tessa’s face softens. She looks down at her glass and then back up at him, reaches across the sofa to place her hand along his jaw. He leans into it. “You don’t either,” she says.

He turns his head to press his lips against her palm. “I’m sorry anyway. I should have believed you.”

They sit like this for a moment, looking at each other. Then Tessa bends her arm slightly, pulling his face almost imperceptibly closer, before abruptly dropping her hand and glancing away.

Scott turns away too, quickly drains his glass and stands. “I should get to bed.” He leans over to kiss her on the forehead. “See you in the morning? Helsinki deal at nine am.”

“See you in the morning,” Tessa says.

She stays curled up on her end of the sofa, listening to the stairs creak as Scott heads up to his room. Long after he’s surely fallen asleep, she watches her wine sparkle in its glass. By the time she goes upstairs herself, the leftover champagne is almost flat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My kingdom for Scott in a suit with a proper sleeve length.


	3. The Prep

Scott is running his hand up Tessa’s thigh, high up under the skirt of her dress as she balances on the sink counter. One strap has slid off her shoulder, revealing a lacy emerald bra, and her legs are wrapped around his waist, where his belt is unbuckled and his pants unzipped. His other arm is leaning her back towards the mirror so that he can trace his way down her neck with his tongue. Her collarbone is between his teeth, her fingers are in his hair, and even the sound of the bathroom door bursting open and slamming against the wall doesn’t interrupt their frantic groping. It’s only when the security guard loudly clears his throat that they freeze and then finally look up, flushed and sweaty.

Avoiding all eye contact, Tessa slips off the counter and roughly tugs her dress back into place. “Excuse me,” she says, brushing past the guard with an air of great dignity that’s belied only by the color in her cheeks.

“Sir?” the guard says to Scott, who’s still bent over the counter, breathing hard. “Building’s closed, sir.”

“Sorry,” says Scott, meeting the guard’s eyes in the mirror for a split second before looking away. “I need, uh. I need a minute.” He glances back at his own reflection and, as if noticing the full extent of his dishevelment for the first time, pulls at the waistband of his pants, buttons them back up and redoes his belt.

The guard unsuccessfully suppresses a smirk. “Take your time, man. It’s just that I gotta walk you out.”

After a minute or two, Scott splashes some water on his face and wipes it off with the sleeve of his suit jacket. “Sorry about that,” he says, walking out of the bathroom ahead of the guard.

“Don’t worry about it,” says the guard as he escorts Scott up the stairs to the lobby. He’s young, has a bit of a good-natured frat boy air about him. “It happens more than you’d think. Something about the idea of piles of gold that seems to get people horny.”

Scott’s neck reddens and he mumbles something inaudible.

“I mean . . .” The guard flounders a bit. “It’s not a big deal, is all. I’m the last one here anyway.”

They reach the lobby and push their way through the turnstiles. The guard unlocks the one of the doors and waves Scott through. “Uh, thanks,” Scott says. “Have a good night.”

“You too,” says the guard. “Sir.” He closes the door and locks it back up. Through the glass, Scott can see him hop back over the turnstile to return to the security cameras for a final sweep of the building.

Scott walks off into the floral spring air, through the courtyard and past the police surveillance booth on the main street. A block outside the ISU’s CCTV radius, Tessa appears, falling into step beside him.

“All good?” he asks her. He swings his hand like he’s going to grab hers, then seems to think the better of it.

“Yep,” she says. She keeps her eyes trained ahead as they cross the street. “Camera is in place. We now have eyes on the vault combination.”

 

***

 

Later, Tessa meets Patch at the bar to bring him up to date. “So the camera’s on the ceiling, directed at the display lens, and it relays the signal to the receiver you gave us, which we’ve planted in a fire extinguisher. We’ll pull that on the day of, and it’ll give us the current combination. In the meantime, we’ve already got the recording of the vault key that Romain asked for.” She slides a thumb drive across the small table between their armchairs. “Pass that on to him for us?”

Patch pockets the drive. “The two of you must have put on a convincing show.”

She shrugs. “It’s not too difficult. I mean, it’s Scott.” Her face and voice are neutral, if studied.

“Yes,” he says, almost indifferently. “You and Scott. You never thought about—”

“Oh, we tried,” she says. “Years ago. We were basically kids.”

“What happened?”

Tessa swirls her negroni around its hand-carved ice sphere. “You know, the usual. A job went wrong, we got into a fight, didn’t talk for a few weeks. And then when we started working together again, we compared notes and realized that we had both been terrified we’d rat the other out. Not as revenge or anything. More like if we got picked up and weren’t feeling particularly close in the moment, the right interrogator could exploit the situation.” Her eyes scan the room and settle on the fireplace, roaring heartily despite the recent shift in the weather. “It was right around the time the Elena and Nick situation was going down.”

Elena and Nikita had been promising up-and-comers, positioned to be some of the best in the business, but after Elena dumped him for another guy in their crew, Nick went to the police. Now all three of them would be out of the game for at least another eight years, and only then with good behavior.

Patch nods. “An unfortunate problem. We never had that. Even after that time I dropped her in that vault back in 2006 and we had to cancel the whole Torino job.”

Tessa laughs quietly into her drink, bitterly, or maybe wistfully. “Yeah, but you and Marie-France are the exception. We’re the rule.”

The two of them sit in silence. The firelight casts odd shadows on Tessa’s face, creating the illusion of sadness.

“It’s a funny thing,” says Patch, gently. Tessa turns to him, but he’s still looking into the fire. “I’ve never thought of you and Scott as anything other than exceptional.”

 

***

 

Romain wrinkles his nose as he descends into the townhouse basement. “It smells like a gymnasium in here.”

Patch nods. “They’ve been running transport drills.” He turns back to the sheet of aluminum he’s machining, the motor of the saw nearly drowning out the Prince song playing over the stereo.

The syrupy summer heat has found its way underground, and the rec room’s soundproofing comes at the expense of air conditioning. On the other side of the room, Chiddy, Tessa, and Scott are taking a break on the floor, drenched in sweat and surrounded by weighted plastic boxes the size and shape of gold bars. Chiddy pours some water over his head and Tessa gets up to stretch her biceps against the wall. A bead of perspiration is running down from the band of her sports bra to her lower back. Scott’s eyes are following it.

“What?” she says, when she switches arms to face him.

Scott shakes his head. “I don’t know how you’re moving so much faster than me. You’re basically lapping me by the time I get to the second bag.”

“Hmm.” She furrows her brow. “Maybe you’re wasting motion. Show me?”

“Okay.” Scott takes off his t-shirt, wipes his face with it, then tosses it aside. He kneels on the ground, takes a breath, then starts rapidly transferring the stacks of fake ingots into the empty satchels. Tessa leans back against the wall, still panting a little, and studies the movements of his muscles.

“This isn’t the issue,” says Chiddy. Scott sits back on his heels. “Even if you pick up speed here, we’re really losing time on carrying the bags. We gotta do something about the stairs.”

“If I may interrupt,” says Romain. They turn to see him eying their setup. “How many bags are we planning? Do we have an estimate of the take?”

Scott and Tessa glance at each other. “Not exactly,” says Scott. “We don’t have confirmation of what’s under the tarp. But we’re planning as if it’s all gold, just in case.”

“It’d be a real shame to rob Didier only half blind just because we move too slowly,” says Chiddy, lounging against a pile of empty satchels.

“And if it is all gold? How much?”

“If it is all gold,” says Tessa, “we’re looking at breaking eighty.” Her eyes are fixed on Romain’s face, waiting for his reaction.

He raises his eyebrows, just slightly. “Ah,” he says, and gives a small nod. “Then I suppose I should get back to work.” He heads towards the stairs.

“How _is_ work?” asks Scott, getting up to stand next to Tessa. “Key coming along?”

Romain smiles in a way that’s clearly meant to be disarming. “Don’t worry,” he says. “It’s coming.” He resumes climbing the stairs, disappearing neatly from view.

Tessa turns to Scott. Before he can say anything, Marie-France comes tripping down the steps.

“Whew!” she says. “It’s so hot!”

“It’s like a curry,” Scott and Tessa respond together. They look at each other and laugh.

Marie-France cocks her head at them quizzically, shrugs. “It’s actually worse in here than it is out there.” She deposits her armload of rolled maps on the desk in the corner and bends over to brush her lips against Patch’s temple. He spins away from the bandsaw to face her, pulls her down into a kiss, then leans back to beam at her.

When Marie-France looks up, Scott is staring at them. The laughter has vanished from his face. He looks away quickly, first at Tessa where she’s restacking ingots, then at the floor. “I’m gonna get some air,” he says. “If it really is cooler outside.” He grabs his soaked t-shirt and pulls it over his head as he jogs up the stairs.

He’s only been outside for a few minutes when Marie-France opens the door. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s great,” he says. He runs his hands through his too-long hair.

She settles down on the stoop beside him. “Why don’t you just talk to her about it?”

“We’ve talked about it.”

“Recently?”

Scott chews on the tip of his index finger. A light breeze flutters some of the leaves in the sidewalk trees, but the air is still too thick for any animal movement, and so the street is quiet.

“Before Chiddy came to us with this thing, we were . . . I hadn’t seen Tessa in a while.”

“Because of what happened on the Russian job?”

“Because of what happened, because of the way it happened.” He drops his hands, looks down at them. “It was supposed to be our last job, the one to retire on. And then what happened happened, and we ended up retiring anyway, not the way we planned.”

“That was a hard time. You two didn’t deserve that.”

“No.” He watches his hands twist around each other. “I was so . . . angry. I felt blindsided. And Tessa was angry at me for feeling blindsided, because she warned me. She knew from the beginning and I didn’t listen to her. I should have trusted her.” When he looks up at Marie-France, he’s blinking hard. “And now I don’t know how she can ever trust me.”

She makes a thoughtful hmming noise. “You’re worried you won’t be able to rebuild what you had.”

“I’m . . .” He sighs. “It’s a lot to rebuild. Almost twenty years. We started shoplifting together when we were seven and nine years old. Before Sochi, we never went more than a few months between jobs. Or more than a day or two without talking. And now, being around her again . . .” He clenches his hands into fists, forcing them into stillness. “I can’t lose this.”

Marie-France pats one of his fists. “It’s hard to imagine that she’d be here if she didn’t trust you,” she says. “Maybe she trusts you more than you trust yourself.”

Scott nods absently. He stares into the heat for a bit before taking a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut and then opens them. “Anyway. I just need to keep my head in the game.” He shakes out his hands. “How are things going on your end?”

“Good. Done reinforcing the suspension on the cars, new plates are due any day. The only real problem is getting the axle grease out from under my nails.” She spreads her fingers and looks at them critically.

Scott nods again, more focused now. “We should get back in there. Patch wants to run through some timelines, and then Tessa and I need to practice.”

“How’s that going?”

“Also good. All the stuff for the job is good. We’ve pretty much got it with our eyes open, hoping to add blindfolds today.”

They stand and Marie-France gives Scott a hug despite his stickiness. “It is a difficult maneuver. I hope you will not hurt each other,” she says.

He smiles, only a little wryly. “If she trusts me as much as you say, we should both be just fine.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Boom!](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JT5AQIlmM0I&t=45)


	4. The Break-In

Late February, Tessa pays a visit to the ISU vault as she does every Tuesday. Once she’s buzzed in through the grate, the security guard helps her removes her box from the wall for her to open on the table. She’s shuffling through the paperwork and exchanging labeled bags of diamonds, but a stray section of hair keeps falling in her face.

“Dammit,” she says, pulling a travel-sized bottle of hairspray from her purse. “You don’t mind, right? It’s not aerosol or anything.”

“Go ahead,” says the guard.

Tessa stands away from the table to protect the documents, but the nozzle is pointed the wrong way and she ends up spraying a spot on the wall instead, where the security sensors are. She twists the bottle around and spritzes again, smoothing her hair into place.

“That’s better,” she says, putting the hairspray away. She returns to the security box, and a few minutes later, she’s concluded her business.

“Thanks so much,” she tells the guard as she leaves.

 

***

 

Chiddy leans over the receptionist desk. “Hey, Liz, they shut down the elevators early again, but I left my phone up there. Pleeeaaase don’t make me walk up ten flights?”

“Is there anything you don’t forget?” asks Liz, handing over the elevator key. “I’m not even supposed to have this.”

“I could never forget you.” He grins. “I need you to carry out all my evil plans.”

 

***

 

The ISU has been closed for an hour when three cars park in front of the shabby office building directly behind it. Five figures exit carrying large duffel bags in gloved hands, their breaths clouding the icy clear air. A sixth stays behind in one of the driver’s seats.

Tessa leans down through the car window to check in with Marie-France. “How’s it sound?” she says.

Marie-France flicks on the police scanner. A dispatcher barks out some chatter about a suspicious person sighting across town. “All set.”

Tessa smiles back. “Hopefully we don’t hear from you until we’re back out.” She moves away to join the others at the building entrance and Patch slides into her place to give Marie-France a quick kiss.

It’s easy enough to break into the building, and they troop through the halls to the rear exit that leads into the back garden, making a quick stop at the janitorial closet to liberate a ladder and a hand truck. Chiddy looks up at the back of the ISU building. “Sixty-three surveillance cameras in three blocks, and they forget to watch a second floor terrace.”

“Good thing they did,” says Patch. “Hold the ladder for me.” He opens one of the duffel bags and pulls out a large sheet of non-conductive polyester. Shielding himself behind it, he climbs up and cautiously approaches the infrared sensor at the terrace door. He props the polyester around the sensor to block it completely. “Heat detector is insulated,” he calls down softly. The others scramble up the ladder as he disables the circuit alarm.

Once they’re in, Chiddy guides them to the elevator and reactivates it with his borrowed key. He gets into the car along with Tessa, Scott, and two of the duffel bags.

“Radios on?” asks Tessa, holding the doors open.

Romain doublechecks, clicking the button on his so they can hear the sound come through Chiddy’s and Tessa’s.

“And your phone?” she asks Patch.

He holds up his cell. “On vibrate, but I’ll keep it out just in case.” He nods at them. “Nothing to worry about.”

“See you soon,” says Tessa, and lets the doors close.

The three of them ride down in silence. They’re not going far underground, but a heavy pressure is building in the elevator.

“Hey,” says Scott, cupping the back of Tessa’s neck. “Don’t stress. We’ve got this.”

She leans back into him, just slightly. “I know.”

“I’d feel better if we had a direct line to Marie-France and the police scanner,” says Chiddy. “This relay system eats up time.”

“It is what it is,” says Scott. Tessa’s neck muscles have tensed again, and he squeezes them gently. “There’s no cell service in the vault and we can’t use radios at that distance without risking the frequency getting picked up.”

“I know, I know,” Chiddy huffs. “I’d just feel better is all.”

The elevator door opens into a blank darkness that should be the vault antechamber. Tessa finds the light switch easily and flips it on. They shed their winter coats in a pile and start unpacking one of duffel bags onto the floor. The boys are in t-shirts and sweats, but Tessa’s in a black turtleneck and leggings, a cat burglar by way of _Funny Face_. Kneeling on the floor, she lays out Romain’s forged key, a large sheet of aluminum, a battery-powered impact driver, and a roll of heavy-duty double-sided tape.

Scott methodically covers one side of the aluminum sheet with a layer of tape. Carefully aligning it with the magnetic plates where they match up on the door and the wall, he presses the sheet across them, wiggling it a bit to make sure it’s stuck on solidly. Satisfied, he uses the impact driver to unscrew all the bolts on the door’s plate and all but one of the wall’s plate, then gently swivels the aluminum sheet so that the plates slide off the door in a single package. He holds the whole thing against the wall and tapes it securely in place, the two plates still touching and the magnetic field between them unbroken.

“That’s one down,” he breathes.

Tessa pulls a scrap of paper out of her pocket and keys in the day’s combination. Looking directly into the lens from above, she sees it flash green. “That’s two.”

Chiddy goes to slide the forged key into the lock. It won’t slide. He twists it a bit and pushes lightly, but it’s still wedged halfway. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“Is it just sticky?” asks Scott.

“No,” says Chiddy. “It really doesn’t fit.”

Scott gives it a try anyway, with the same results. He steps back, jaw clenched. “He had one fucking job.” He looks up at Tessa, whose mouth is a thin line.

The three of them stand in silence, staring at the useless key. The smart thing to do would be to pack up and leave, but none of them make a move to do it.

“In the footage,” says Tessa after a long moment, “don’t the guards always go to that utility room before opening the vault?”

Scott and Chiddy look at each other, then over at the utility room door. “They wouldn’t be that lax,” says Chiddy. “Would they?”

Scott walks over and peers down at the door handle, then gives it an impulsive twist. “It’s not even locked.” He opens the door and steps inside. A second later, he pokes his head back out. “I thought this place was supposed to be hard to break into,” he says, holding up the key.

Chiddy pries the forgery out of the keyhole and slots the original into its place. He turns it, and there’s a loud clanking as the bolts slide back. He turns to Scott and Tessa, and bursts out laughing.

“So glad that multiple forms of incompetence cancel each other out,” mutters Tessa, but soon she’s laughing with the rest of them.

“Alright,” says Chiddy, dusting off his hands and stepping back towards the elevator. “Time for me to get out of your way. I’ll be at the security center if you miss me.”

“Keep your radio on,” reminds Tessa, and Chiddy tosses her a salute before the doors close.

 

***

 

It’s just the two of them in front of the vault now. Scott unrolls a set of lockpicks from one of the satchels, selects three picks and a tension wrench from the collection, and sticks them between his teeth. He nods at Tessa and she flips the switch on the wall, plunging the antechamber into darkness.

Tessa spins the vault handle and the door opens easily. Feeling for the grate lock, Scott crouches in front of it. He fits the wrench in and goes to work with the picks, exchanging them as needed from mouth to hand.

Tessa waits quietly, eyes straining against the blackness. The clicking sound of the lockpicking echoes against the marble floor and into the vault beyond. Some twenty minutes later, there’s a louder click, and she can hear Scott sit back.

“Got it?” she asks.

There’s the sound of the hinges squealing and the grate clanging against the door. “Got it,” says Scott.

Tessa clicks on the radio. “We’re through.”

Romain’s voice comes back. “Good,” he says. “Not too much longer, yes?” Nobody answers him.

“How many pins?” asks Chiddy instead.

“Twelve,” says Scott. He swings his arms, careful not to swipe Tessa, and stretches to loosen his back.

“Took you long enough. You’re slipping.”

“It’s an old lock. Now shut up so we can concentrate.”

“Your best time is three minutes and thirty eight seconds, right?” says Chiddy. “And the hairspray should insulate the heat sensor for five minutes?”

“Four to six,” says Tessa. “We hope.”

“So in seven minutes, we’re either in or we’re fucked. I’ll set my watch.”

Tessa places the radio on the ground, out of the way, but there’s one last burst of static.

“Good luck, guys.”

 

***

 

Scott feels his way over to Tessa and they position themselves at vault entrance. “Ready?” he asks.

She turns into him and their arms come up into an embrace. The syncopated rhythms of their breaths gradually shift and become one. After who knows how long, they step back, hands slotting into each other, fingers interweaving.

Tessa’s hand squeezes his. “Together.”

“Together,” he repeats.

They stride forward into the vault, counting a perfect choreography of eleven paces before Tessa turns. Scott guides her with one hand as she flips herself up into a twist, then grabs her waist to settle her onto his shoulders.

And then there’s nothing but the sound of measured breathing in the dark. Scott’s hands are on Tessa’s hips, steadying her so she can push back the ceiling panel above her. She casts about blindly in the open space until her fingers brush against a pair of wires and gently detangles them. Using the wire stripper that Scott passes up to her, she starts to delicately ease the plastic coating off, careful to keep from severing the conduits themselves.

Sixty seconds pass. Then another sixty.

The temperature rises a degree.

The hairspray holds. For now.

Scott exhales against Tessa’s body. She’s all around him, invisible. He shuffles in place, countering her motions above as she pulls a short piece of copper wire from her ponytail. She fumbles it between her gloved fingers, and there’s a heartstopping moment before she catches it, jerking forward and nearly throwing Scott off balance. Gripping the wire carefully, she begins to twist it into a bridge between the exposed inbound and outbound wires. Once it’s secure, the electric pulse shooting across the system will answer itself along the bridge, so that any interruption further down the line from a vault sensor tripping and breaking the circuit will be closed out of the loop, irrelevant.

Another sixty seconds.

Another degree.

Scott’s grip on Tessa’s hips is slipping, but if he readjusts, he could jar her into some disastrous mistake. He uses his arms to brace her thighs against the sides of his neck instead.

Another sixty seconds.

Finally, Tessa exhales. “I think that’s it,” she says. She only whispers, but it’s the loudest sound in the world.

Scott slides her down to the floor. They brace themselves, then turn on their flashlights.

Silence.

The alarm is bypassed. The vault is theirs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, why not just bring a ladder? Because it’s my fic, that’s why.


	5. The Getaway

The cage door is open, the tarp is on the floor, and Scott and Tessa stand in front of four hundred bars of gold belonging to one Didier Gailhaguet.

 _Formerly_ belonging to Didier Gailhaguet.

They’re staring at it with something like awe, a mood that’s shattered when Tessa suddenly starts giggling.

“What?” asks Scott, his lips already curving upwards.

“I was just remembering,” she says, then interrupts herself with more laughter. “The thing the guard said about piles of gold getting people horny.”

Scott’s eyebrows go up, but then the elevator dings and Chiddy comes sprinting into the vault. He pulls up in the doorway of the cage to gawk at the gold. “Holy shit, that is crazy sexy.”

Tessa dissolves in a renewed burst of hysteria.

“Okay,” says Scott, trying to tamp down his grin. “Okay, let’s get to work.” He picks up the second duffel bag, unzips it, and shakes out thirty satchels.

Tessa’s in charge of packing the bags: four ingots each, just under sixty kilos a satchel. As she zips them up, Chiddy and Scott run them over to the elevator and send them up to the second floor in four loads. The elevator could probably handle more weight, but they don’t need to risk the car breaking down between floors.

The three of them ride up together on the fifth trip, leaving the alarm system bypassed but taking a paper bag Chiddy brought down from the security center. When they reach the second floor, Patch is tossing the last of the satchels over the terrace railing to the garden below, where Romain is loading them in batches onto the dolly. Chiddy deactivates the elevator and they slide down the ladder, picking up an extra bag each and running it through the office building to the parking lot out front.

Marie-France is stowing satchels from Romain’s previous trips into the cars, and Chiddy and Tessa start pitching in while Scott and Patch return to the garden. “Remember, between the axles,” she says, showing them how she’s stacked the gold on the floor of the backseat.

In the end, each car gets ten bags, and while the chassis sink a bit under the weight, the reinforced suspensions hold. Patch slides into the shotgun seat next to Marie-France, Tessa and Chiddy hop in the second car, and Scott takes the wheel of the third with Romain at his side and the security center bag on his lap.

“See you at the rendezvous,” says Marie-France as she starts the engine. She turns out onto the road and the others follow her to the end of the block before splitting in three different directions.

 

***

 

Scott is driving along the route Marie-France selected, the silence in the car only interrupted by Romain reading out directions. They’re well into Réserve faunique Mastigouche when he pulls over into the head of a small hiking trail that seems to be of little interest to the season’s snowshoers and skidoo enthusiasts. Stepping out of the car, he checks to make sure they’re hidden from the main road. He pulls the paper bag from the security center onto the roof and starts sorting through it, separating out a stack of hard drives from some loose paperwork and tossing them back onto the driver’s seat.

On the other side of the car, Romain is piling the satchels on the ground. Scott joins him in dumping the ingots out onto the dry snow, sliding off the paper wrappers that encircle each bar, and repacking the gold into the satchels and then into the car. Before long, they’ve filled the security center bag with forty paper loops, crushed together like discarded napkin rings, all stamped “ISU.”

“Got the lighter?” asks Scott.

“It’s in here somewhere,” says Romain, rummaging through the glove compartment. He pulls it out and brings it over to Scott, who’s started clearing a small area of snow and brush.

Scott doesn’t see exactly what happens, but one second Romain’s walking towards him with the bag of papers and the next he’s stumbled over some obstacle hidden in the snow. He falls on his face and the bag goes flying, paper scattering in the icy wind.

Leaping into action, Scott ignores Romain on the ground and starts to gather as much paper as he can before it disappears into the trees. His reflexes are good and he’s moving fast, but he definitely hasn’t gotten it all—he only counts thirty eight wrappers and it’s hard to say what paperwork might be missing. After trudging through the snow in widening circles fails to yield anything else, he returns to the clearing by the car.

“What the fuck was that?” he says.

Romain brushes some blood off his lip. “I tripped,” he says, unapologetically.

Scott stares at him a moment. “Whatever,” he says finally. “We’ll burn what we have. Doesn’t seem likely that anybody will find the rest.” He places the bag in the center of the clearing and sparks the lighter until a flame catches. The scent of burning paper cuts through the crisp pine air, and he takes a step back. “Why don’t you pull up the directions to the gas station? I’ll let Tessa know that we’re on our way there to microwave the security footage.” He gathers the hard drives off of the car seat and shoves them into his jacket pockets, then starts tapping on his phone.

Romain pulls his phone out as well, but instead of bringing up Marie-France’s directions, he sends a text to an unsaved number with a French country code: _C’est fait._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short one today—went back and forth about putting a break here, but decided it was necessary for pacing reasons. Blame Romain?


	6. The Beginning

On Thursday morning, Scott and Tessa arrive at the district for their afternoon appointment with a Korean buyer, but are stopped before the police surveillance booth. “Sorry miss, sir,” says the cop. “ISU is closed today. There’s been a break-in.”

“What?” says Scott, laughing. “The ISU doesn’t _get_ broken into.”

“It did two nights ago,” says a woman to his left. She’s part of what Scott and Tessa now realize is a loose crowd of bystanders, gathered near the booth to stare at the outside of the ISU building. The somber facade looks the same as always, betrays nothing.

Tessa glances at over at her. “Liz, right? You’re at reception?”

“Usually,” says Liz. “Not today, obviously. They asked me to come in—I guess they’re interviewing everybody who works in the building—but all I’ve done so far is wait around.”

“So they think it was an inside job or something?” asks Scott. “It’s gotta be, right? I mean, how else does someone break into the freaking ISU?”

“That’s the thing.” Liz drops her voice conspiratorially. “They still don’t know how they did it. When they found the vault open yesterday morning, the alarm company was reading it as fully functional.”

Tessa turns to Scott, as if suddenly thinking of something. “We should probably contact our insurance. I’m guessing the ISU has already started that on their end, but we should file our own claim.”

“Actually,” Liz interposes again, “they concluded inventory yesterday and it turns out only one account was emptied. All the safety deposit boxes were intact. So unless you were storing a literal ton and a half of gold in the vault, you’re probably fine.” Off of Tessa and Scott’s expressions, she shrugs. “I’ve been hanging around the ISU police squad for two days waiting to get interviewed, I’ve overheard a lot.”

“So do they have any leads?” ventures Scott.

“Somebody called in a tip, but it’s too early to see if that’s panned out yet. Something about finding some bullion wrappers in the Mastigouche Wildlife Reserve. They sent some detectives up there this morning to check it out.”

Scott and Tessa look at each other. “A tip, huh?” Scott says slowly. “Seems really unlikely that someone would have just happened across that kind of thing in the middle of giant park the day after the break-in.”

“That’s what the cops said,” agrees Liz. “They figure it’s part of the burglary crew trying to double-cross the rest of the gang. But if it leads them somewhere, it’s worth following.”

Tessa is staring pensively at the ISU building. “So much for honor among thieves.”

 

***

 

It’s the fourth call he makes, but finally somebody picks up. “Chiddy here.”

“Patrick! It’s Romain. Where are Marie-France and Patrice?”

“Hello, Romain. What’s up?”

His voice is an urgent hiss. “I’m at the ISU police station. They picked me up this morning, they raided my place!”

“What do you mean? What did they find?”

“There was a bag of bullion wrappers stashed in one of the closets. I don’t understand, they were all supposed to be burned.”

“They _were_ all supposed to be burned. Any idea what led them to you?”

“I have no idea! Something about some paperwork in the woods, details of some sort of insurance scam I was supposedly working with Didier. They say they have cell phone records, security camera footage of us meeting up. They found all these plans written in shorthand. I don’t even know shorthand!”

“Huh. Weird.”

There’s a long pause on the line.

“ _Fils de pute_.” Romain has gone deadly cold. “You ratted me out.”

“I don’t see how that’s possible. None of _us_ called in a tip to the ISU police squad.”

“You set me up. You—”

“Switched out the paperwork you planted?” Scott breaks in. The call is apparently on speakerphone. “They were supposed to find the townhouse’s address with those two wrappers you left in Mastigouche, right? Not your condo’s?”

“How did you—”

“Oh, Romain,” Tessa lilts. “You _do_ think we’re idiots.”

He’s getting more heated. “When Patch and Marie-France hear about this—”

“When we hear about what?” asks Patch impassively.

“We’re very sorry it had to be this way,” comes Marie-France’s remorseless voice.

Another moment passes before Romain’s able to sputter a response. “You’re not sorry yet. I’ll find you. I’ll make you pay.”

“Find us?” Tessa laughs airily. “We’re already gone.”

And with a soft click, they are.

 

***

 

“Always nice to be able to tie up loose ends so quickly,” says Chiddy after hanging up.

“Or cut them off entirely,” says Marie-France, with a sharp note of finality.

“I’m a little surprised,” Scott says to her. “I thought you’d be the hardest to sell on this. You’re the one who’s always going on about second chances.” His tone is very light.

“Not always.” She gives him a pointed look. “Only if there is love and hope.”

“ _Antèka_ ,” says Patch, wrapping an arm around her. “I think it’s time to celebrate, right?”

They start with bubbly stuff, letting corks fly and foam spray just for the fun of it. Marie-France eventually produces a bottle of maple syrup to general amusement, and they end up boiling it down for maple taffy. It really is too cold for beach weather now, but that doesn’t stop them from romping through the lakeshore snow like kids, flasks tucked into their coat pockets notwithstanding. Scott jokingly suggests ice skating, but the water isn’t nearly frozen enough, and even if it were, it’s not like Tessa has skates lying around the cottage. When they’re too tired and cold to keep playing outside, they head back in to huddle around a fire that Patch builds in the living room.

Chiddy takes a pull of his Irish coffee. “Has anybody done the math on what the take is?”

“I have,” says Scott, who can be surprisingly numbers-minded. “Per this morning’s price per ounce, we’re sitting on eighty-three point six seven million.”

Patch lets out a low whistle.

“That’s a new record for us, isn’t it?” Tessa smirks behind her mug of spiked hot chocolate.

Scott nods at her. “And a hefty loss for Didier.”

“So it wasn’t actually insured?” asks Marie-France. “That seems sloppy.”

“Oh, it was,” says Chiddy. “But I’m pretty sure the digital records were somehow erased.” He spreads his hands. “Oops.”

“There might still be some ashes of the hard copies blowing around the Mastigouche Reserve,” adds Scott.

Tessa leans back into the arm of the couch. “I suppose it’s possible that Didier can still buy his way out of whatever trouble his involvement with Romain brings,” she says. “But at least his pockets aren’t as deep as they used to be.”

The thought earns a round of smug faces.

“Any plans for your shares?” asks Marie-France.

“I’ve been thinking about moving out to Vancouver.” Chiddy grins. “Maybe bring that Liz girl with me.”

“What about you?” Tessa asks, redirecting to Patch and Marie-France.

Patch shrugs. “Billie-Rose’s college fund?”

“And you?” asks Marie-France.

Scott and Tessa look at each other. “Have to let the dust settle,” says Scott, “but I’m thinking retirement. For real this time.” His eyes don’t leave Tessa’s.

She’s returning his gaze. “Yeah,” she says. “It feels like it.” She bites her lip. “Maybe time to move forward with something new.”

Scott smiles.

 

***

 

After the others’ cars disappear around the bend in the driveway, Scott and Tessa top off their drinks and curl up again on the couch. Scott props his feet up on the coffee table and throws his arm around Tessa, leaning her body into his. “This was good,” he says. “Really good.”

Tessa nods against his shoulder. “I’m glad we did this. Not just because of the money, or to screw Didier. I’m just—” She swallows. “I’m glad we did this.”

“Me too,” Scott says softly.

They’re facing the picture window that overlooks the lake. It’s starting to snow, but it’s warm inside.

“Thanks,” Tessa says. “For, you know. Believing me.”

“I told you, I don’t plan on making the same mistakes more than once.”

“Are there any other mistakes you’re trying to avoid?” She twists around to face him.

He’s looking back at her. “A few, yeah.”

Between the hush of the snow outside and the soft pop of the fire inside, it’s very quiet.

“So what were you thinking?” asks Tessa. She's playing with the hoodie string of his sweatshirt, but peers up at him, almost shyly. “If we’re retiring for real. What now?”

Scott moves his hand to brush her hair back behind her ear. He twists the tendrils around his fingers. “I was thinking . . .”

He stops, leans down and kisses her.

When they finally break apart, they’re both a little breathless.

“I was thinking something like that.” He watches her face, his thumb tracing her jaw.

“Yeah?” she says. Tessa’s eyes are bright. “You sure you don’t want to wait until the statute of limitations is up?”

Scott’s face crinkles into a grin. “Nah,” he says, pulling her back in. “I think we’ve waited long enough.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap! Special thanks to _Wired_ for their write-up of the [Antwerp Diamond Heist](https://www.wired.com/2009/03/ff-diamonds-2), even if the narrator is unreliable enough that the physics don’t always make sense. No thanks at all to gold for being so freaking heavy that by the time I balanced dimensions, weight, and value against each other, I had to reduce the take by around 40 million CAD or else invent some very questionable exchange rates.


End file.
